


The Luckiest

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Series: Ben Folds's Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M, Percy/Oliver, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A direct sequel to "In Between Days" in which the war is over, but not really and book 7 continues to be completely ignored. Percy works for the Ministry, Oliver is a touch shady, Tonks and Shacklebolt prove their level of badass, and love is warm and gooey [most of the time]. Also, Seamus plays chorus, and The Golden Trio barely get a nod.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will never be able to say enough nice things about shoshannagold. She is amazing. I wish every writer could have one. Any errors left in this story are entirely my own fault. And thank you to everyone who's been so excited to see the follow-up to "In Between Days" and has been happily following the growth of "Electric Boogaloo" [the non-serious working title]. You're all wonderful. Hope this meets up with expectations. The title of the story comes from the Ben Folds's song of the same name.

Two weeks after Minister Shacklebolt’s announcement to the Muggle community, Percy finds himself answering questions at the gate of the Ministry.

“Are wizards safe?” a man asks, pushing a digital recorder near Percy’s mouth.

Percy has to breathe slowly to keep from flinching. “Wizards are as safe as non-magical people.”

“What about Voldemort?”

“What about Jack the Ripper?” Percy counters. He presses back a smirk at the reporter’s glare. “One bad non-magical person does not speak for all non-magical people,” Percy continues. “And one bad wizard does not speak for all wizards.” He checks his pocket watch and gives the assembled reporters a sharp nod. “I can take one more question before I’m late.”

A woman with a cameraman gets her question in first. “We’ve been getting reports that non-magical people are having trouble getting in touch with the Ministry via telephone or electronic communication. What is the Ministry doing to fix the problem?”

“We are currently implementing telephones and computers into the Ministry,” Percy says, feeling slightly more at ease. “My colleague, Seamus Finnigan, and I are helping oversee the project. The telephone system will be completely installed in another three days. The computers will take a few more weeks, due to the training our wizard-born staff will require, but we have non-magical born staff who will be ready to help via e-mail as soon as the system is running.” Percy makes a point to look at his watch again. “Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen, but I must get to work.”

“Nice work,” Seamus tells him when Percy walks into the office.

Percy sighs and mutes the television with a flick of his wand. “Have I already made the news?”

“The woman with the last question was live.” Seamus grins as Percy curses. “I do have good news.”

“Yes?”

“We got approval for an assistant.” Seamus bats at the memos that are trying to poke him in the head. “So these can fly at whoever that ends up being.”

“That’s something,” Percy agrees and catches a memo as it tries to fly into his ear. “When can we set up appointments?”

*

Oliver is slouching against the front gate of the Ministry when Percy walks outside at the end of the day. “Dinner?” Oliver asks.

“I made the news,” Percy says, pulling a face. “I promised Mum I’d come home for dinner every time I make the news.” He smiles when Oliver laughs.

“Even though you live there?”

“You’re welcome to join us and get clarification yourself, if you want,” Percy offers without thinking. They’ve had a drink, a kiss, and the months during the war when Percy had forcibly attempted to have nothing. He’s not certain that’s enough to invite Oliver home for dinner.

“I’d like that.” Oliver reaches for Percy’s hand and lets him apparate them both into the Burrow.

“Mum?” Percy calls out as he leads Oliver from the living room to the kitchen. “I brought Oliver.” He takes a deep breath to try and slow down his heartbeat.

“That’s wonderful,” Molly says as she turns from the stove. She hugs Oliver before he can get away, and then she hugs Percy. “Was everything all right at work today?”

“Seamus and I are getting an assistant,” Percy tells her. “And the telephone installation is going well.” He wonders if his mother will ask how Oliver ended up invited to dinner, and he wonders what he’ll say in response.

“That’s nice,” Molly says to Percy, and she gives Oliver an interested look. “And what are you doing now, Oliver?”

“Nothing I can talk about,” Oliver says as he sits at the table.

“Ron mentioned he’s seen you near some of the sights he’s been checking,” Molly tells him. “But you’re not an Auror.”

“No, I’m not,” Oliver confirms. “And that’s honestly all I can say.”

“If that’s the case, then you two can de-gnome the garden until dinner,” Molly replies, a smirk starting on her face.

Her response settles the butterflies in Percy’s stomach. “I was waiting for that,” Percy tells Oliver. “Mum hates not knowing, so she’ll put you to work instead.”

“They’ve been biting,” Molly calls as they walk out the back door.

Oliver unclasps his robe and lays it out on the grass near the garden. He walks halfway down a row of carrots and eyes the ground line. “Got one!” he yells, yanking up a gnome by its legs and sending it flying over the fence.

Percy lays his robe next to Oliver’s and starts to roll up his sleeves. “Ron and Harry usually see who can throw them the farthest.”

“Should you be throwing with your arm?” Oliver asks as he sends another gnome over the fence.

“I’ll stop if it bothers me,” Percy promises. He steps into the garden and walks towards the tomato plants. It only takes a few shakes to send the gnomes running. One tries to kick him, but Percy grabs it and flings it over the fence.

“Nice,” Oliver says, shading his eyes to watch it land.

*

They collapse onto their robes half an hour later. Percy rubs at his right arm and shakes his head when Oliver looks concerned. “Preemptive measure,” he tells him. “Draco says the massage will keep it from cramping after I’ve used my arm extensively.”

Oliver bats away Percy’s hand and starts kneading Percy’s arm. “I know a bit about this sort of thing.” He smirks when Percy chuckles. “Not like that. Well, yes, like that, but I also know something about massage. I’ve played a bit of Quidditch, you see.”

“Have you?” Percy asks, mock-surprised. “I don’t recall you ever mentioning it.”

“I’m incredibly modest and shy,” Oliver replies. He carefully presses his thumbs into the bend of Percy’s elbow. “The new Quidditch season is still months off,” he says. “Not sure what I’ll do until then.”

“It sounded like the Ministry keeps you busy.”

Oliver shrugs and drops one hand down to massage Percy’s palm. “They do, and I’m sure they’ll do so until I tell them I’m otherwise engaged, but I miss Quidditch. I’d like to get back into the habit of my head injuries being mostly not life-threatening.”

Percy looks at the black streak in Oliver’s hair and swallows hard. “Any idea when you can tell me about that?” he gestures to the streak with a nod.

“Not anytime soon, still,” Oliver replies.

It’s an answer Percy expects, and he watches Oliver’s forearms flex as he works his way up Percy’s bicep. “Is it strange that I invited you to dinner?” he asks after a moment.

Oliver looks up, thumbs skimming Percy’s wrist. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve barely…” Percy swallows hard. “We’ve barely been seeing one another, and I’ve always heard that inviting someone for a family dinner…” He grimaces when he can’t figure out how to say what he means.

“Your Mum’s been after you and the twins to get me to dinner since first year,” Oliver says. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling. “It’s not weird.”

Percy looks him in the eyes and flushes a little. “You think it’s funny I’m asking.”

“No, I don’t,” Oliver disagrees, but the grin is already breaking across his face. “I think it’s endearing.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s better,” Percy replies, trying to be severe. Oliver’s smile wins him over, and he finds himself smiling as well. “As long as it’s not awkward.”

“It’s not,” Oliver assures him. “I’m glad you—”

“Dinner!” Molly calls out the backdoor. “Don’t forget to wash up!”

“Yes, Mum!” Percy yells in return. He turns back to Oliver, planning to ask him to finish his thought, but Oliver kisses him softly before he can say anything. “Are you trying to court me?” he asks, half-joking.

Oliver smiles. “Maybe a little.” He stands and pulls Percy to his feet before throwing both of their robes over his arm. “After you,” he says, and there’s a leer in his tone that makes Percy shake his head.

Molly watches them carefully as they wash up. Percy counts the plates on the table. One of him, one for Oliver, one for his mum, one for his dad, and another he can’t place. “Who else is coming?” Percy asks as he and Oliver sit down.

“Draco,” Molly says as she hands Percy the bread basket. “If he doesn’t get caught up at St. Mungo’s, of course.”

“Draco works at St. Mungo’s?” Oliver asks, obviously surprised. Percy wonders if he really wants to ask why Draco is coming to the Burrow for dinner.

“He proved himself—” Molly cuts off at the _pop_ of apparition in the living room and cranes her neck to see who it is. “Hullo, dear,” she says to Arthur.

“Hullo,” Arthur replies, kissing her cheek. “Dinner smells wonderful. Today was—oh, hullo, Oliver.” Arthur extends his hand.

“Hullo, Mr. Weasley,” Oliver replies, shaking firmly. “How have you been?”

“Busy.” Arthur pats Percy’s shoulder as he takes his seat. “There have been a number of Muggles—”

“Non-magical people,” Percy corrects immediately. He grimaces. “Sorry, Dad. It’s—”

“No, no.” Arthur waves a hand to stop Percy’s apology. “I’ve gotten the same memos, and the sooner I get used to the new wording, the better.”

“Wording?” Oliver asks.

“The Ministry is trying to not use the term ‘Muggle’,” Arthur explains. “There’s concern that Mug—non-magical people—will think it’s a bad word.”

“They’ve always been very sensitive to such things,” Molly interjects as she glances at the wall clock. “Not that magical people don’t have their own words they don’t like, naturally, but to think they’d get worked up over something as honestly bland as “Muggle”…” She shakes her head.

“Word substitution is a useful trick, Mum,” Percy tells her. “Saying someone is non-magical is much more self-explanatory than calling someone a Muggle.”

“Is there a new term for Muggle-borns?” Oliver asks as he cuts his meat.

Percy grimaces. “Not yet. It’s proven to be a headache, honestly. ‘Non-magical born’ is a bit too involved.”

“Speaking of,” Arthur says, “I saw you on the news. You did very well.”

“Were you frightened?” Molly asks Percy.

“Annoyed, mostly.” Percy sips his water. “It’s been the same questions for days, and the news they have just keeps repeating everything.”

“It’s a waste of time—” Oliver starts, but he’s interrupted as Draco apparates into the kitchen.

“You’re late,” Molly tells Draco fondly. She fixes up Draco’s plate and walks around the table to touch him on the shoulder. “They work you entirely too hard.”

“We had a team of Aurors show up to get patched as I was about to leave,” Draco says, nodding to Arthur when Arthur passes him the butter. “Nothing serious, but we had to un-hex a few people.” Draco glances at Percy. “How’s your arm?”

“Very well, thank you,” Percy replies.

Draco nods and begins to eat his dinner. He says nothing else the rest of the meal, and Percy can’t help but watch him from the corner of his eye. When they’ve had dessert, Draco stands, allows Molly to give him a very light hug, and apparates away.

“Huh,” Oliver says as he carries his plate to the sink. “I recall an entirely different Draco.”

“I recall a brat,” Percy agrees, “but he’s been nothing but professional in regards to my arm,” he says before his mother can scold him.

“He had an awful time of it during the war,” Arthur says quietly, helping Molly stack the serving dishes.

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Molly adds, “but when the Order found him, he was half-starved and obviously beaten.”

Percy thinks about that for a moment. “Who found him?”

“Charlie led a team on a Death Eater location,” Molly says. She narrows her eyes when Percy chuckles. “And what, precisely, is so funny?”

“Nothing,” Percy says and slides a glance to Oliver. Oliver’s very studiously running water over the dishes, but his eyes are shining. “It’s just that most people take in stray crups, Mum.”

“Don’t be terrible,” Molly says, but she’s smiling a little when she pecks Percy on the cheek. She waves Percy and Oliver away from the sink and shoos them towards the living room. “Get out of here before you make a bigger mess.”

“I need something to read,” Oliver says conversationally as they walk into the living room. “I’ve got everything in my new flat but books. Mind if I take a look at yours?”

“Not at all,” Percy replies. He leads the way upstairs and jumps when Oliver kisses him after he’s closed his bedroom door. “Oh.”

Oliver chuckles. “Hullo.”

Percy relaxes into the next kiss. “Hullo,” he murmurs against Oliver’s mouth as he tosses a silencing charm at the door.

*

He sees Oliver off two hours later, one of his books tucked under Oliver’s arm. “Thanks for coming to dinner,” he says as Oliver gets ready to apparate. He can’t stop the smile that slides across his face.

“Thanks for the invite,” Oliver responds, a smile on his own face. He takes a step closer and glances behind Percy at the lit windows of the Burrow. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

“Of course.”

“Your parents might be watching.”

Percy smiles. “It’s all right,” he says, “but thank you for being so concerned.”

*

Seamus and Percy set up interviews with five people; two witches, a wizard, and two Muggles. One of the witches informs them that she has no plans to learn how to use a computer or a telephone, and she thinks it’s foolishness to tell the Muggles anything. Percy escorts her to the door before Seamus responds with more than a rolling of his eyes. The wizard has all the personality of a wet rag, and one of the Muggles answers all their questions with a snappish, angry tone.

“Didn’t we make a list of requirements?” Seamus asks between interviews. “I am entirely certain we made a list of requirements, and being a pain in the arse was not on the list.”

“I know,” Percy says, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. He eyes the paperwork that is leaning to the left on his desk. “I wonder how many of these are angry letters.”

“At least Mug—non-magical people can’t send Howlers.”

“I suppose that’s something.” Percy shares a wry smile with Seamus and glances at the clock. “Back ye, into the bowels of hell, unto the fire and pain.”

Seamus blinks. “What?”

“We’ve got two more interviews to get through,” Percy says wearily. “I can not believe I miss my old job.”

“It is not nearly that bad,” Seamus replies so seriously that they end up laughing.

*

Jill is short, blonde, and has a CV that boasts six years as some type of office assistant. “I’m not a witch,” she tells Percy and Seamus before they can ask. “But the ad said you needed someone comfortable with non-magical office machines, and I know I can learn everything else. I have excellent people skills, as well.”

She smiles when Percy breaks his quill and absentmindedly transfigures a spare biscuit into a replacement. “That is so neat.”

They split the references list, and it comes up glowing. The only reason not to hire her is backlash. The other interviewee hadn’t even shown up for the appointment.

“They’re say we’re just trying to be politically correct,” Percy says to Seamus. “We’ll get accused of refusing to hire a magical person because we want to show how diverse we are.”

“She’s the best person who applied for the position,” Seamus argues. “I’d rather listen to blowhards call us names than have to worry about not getting a Floo or an e-mail from Shacklebolt.”

Percy lets Seamus call Jill with the offer so that he can be the one to create and organize the outer office with a desk, a chair, a computer, a telephone, and a series of slightly squeaky padded chairs. He puts in an order for a fireplace and finds himself smiling when he looks at the finished set-up.

*

“She seems to be getting on well,” Percy tells Oliver two nights later. “The first day, she brought all my memos into the office in a closed box. She thought they’d fly away.”

Oliver chuckles and opens a bottle of red wine. “It makes a certain type of sense if you haven’t encountered Ministry memos before. Sounds like you and Seamus found someone who’ll be able to handle the weirdness in general.”

“It’s a relief to be certain of that,” Percy confesses. He watches Oliver crumble ground beef into a sauce pan and add black pepper and beef broth. “All right,” he says, sliding down the counter to give Oliver room, “I give up. What’s for dinner?”

“You really don’t know?” Oliver asks, grinning.

“There’s ground beef and red pepper and broth, and you’re opening a tin of tomato paste. I’m almost fearful to try and connect the dots.”

“It’s bolognese sauce,” Oliver says as he adds the two tablespoons of tomato paste to the sauce. “I made my own pasta, as well.”

Percy’s eyes widen. “You made your own pasta?”

“It’s simple,” Oliver tells him. “It’s just flour, water, salt, and egg. You mix it up, beat it up, and then you roll it out and slice it into whatever shape you want.”

Percy shakes his head at the thought. “It’s a bit above for a simple dinner, isn’t it? I didn’t realize you’d be putting in so much effort.”

“You don’t romance someone with something you can make everyday,” Oliver says as he reaches around Percy for a dish towel. “That’s cheating.”

“Oh,” Percy says quietly and feels himself flush a little. “I didn’t realize…well, I did realize, but—”

Oliver chuckles and nudges Percy to the side with his hip. “It’s kind of nice to see you flustered,” he says as he pulls a small bowl out of a cupboard. “It reminds me of school.”

Percy feels himself smile. “You may be the only person who can say that with a straight face.”

Oliver pauses in plucking oregano from the potted plant on his windowsill. “I liked you at school,” he says, voice low. “It’s not your fault people wouldn’t make the effort.”

“I know what I was like at school,” Percy says quietly. “And I’m amazed, looking back, that I even managed to make friends with you.”

“And date Penelope,” Oliver adds, the serious look on his face relaxing into a grin.

Percy pulls a face. “Oh, yes, that.”

Oliver sprinkles the oregano into the sauce and opens a cupboard to pull down his homemade pasta. “There’s a pasta spoon in the drawer to your left,” he tells Percy.

Percy checks the drawer and hands Oliver the spoon. “Are you certain I can’t help?”

“You never could stand still while other people worked,” Oliver teases. He watches Percy try not to fidget and holds out the spoon. “You can watch the noodles. Just treat them like regular noodles.” He steps to the side to give Percy room at the stove and picks up a different spoon to stir the sauce. “How did you end up dating Penelope?”

“Truthfully?” Percy asks.

Oliver glances at Percy and smiles at the way Percy is concentrating on pouring olive oil into the pan with the pasta. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

“We were studying together a lot, and then we…”

“And then she told you that you were dating,” Oliver finishes.

“And so we dated,” Percy confirms.

Oliver checks the doneness of the ground beef and gives Percy a very serious look. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Percy blinks at Oliver. “Oh?”

“We’re dating.” Oliver manages to keep a straight face until Percy pokes him in the chest with his spaghetti spoon. “Hey!” He grabs a towel and wipes at the slightly oily spot on his shirt. “Great. Now I need to change shirts.”

“You don’t need to change,” Percy says blandly. “You can just take off your shirt.”

Oliver pauses, towel nearly dropping out of his hand. “Did you just make an innuendo?”

“Merely a suggestion.” Percy smirks when Oliver makes a show of removing his shirt. “Now I could make an innuendo.”

Oliver steps behind Percy and guides his hand to start stirring the noodles again. “I put a lot of effort into this,” he says near Percy’s ear. “I don’t want it ruined.”

“Now who’s making innuendo?” Percy asks. He shivers when Oliver breathes on his neck.

*

Percy opens the front door of the Burrow as quietly as possible. He’s trying to sneak past the living room when he hears a throat clearing. “Hi, Mum,” he greets sheepishly.

“You’re late,” Molly says as she stands up from the couch. She puts aside her book and puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t ask for you to leave me a schedule, but when you say you’ll be home by eleven, I expect—”

“I know, Mum,” Percy interrupts. “I’m sorry. Oliver and I lost track of time.”

“Did you?” The reading lamp casts her in a strong half-shadow, but Percy can see the smile on one side of her mouth.

“I’m going to bed,” he says before she can ask questions. He kisses her on the cheek and takes the hug she gives him.

“He’s a very nice young man,” Molly says as Percy starts up the stairs.

“I’ll tell him you said so,” Percy calls over his shoulder.

*

“Concerned mother to see you,” Jill says quietly to Percy.

Percy glances out the door and sees a tall, slender woman with black hair and an envelope in her hand that Percy recognizes as the Hogwarts acceptance letter. “Name?” he asks.

“She won’t give one,” Jill replies.

“Hmm,” Percy thinks for a moment and finally nods. “Let her in. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Jill says with a small smile and walks back into the outer office.

“Are you Percy Weasley?” the woman asks in greeting. She looks slightly terrified as a nasally-voiced witch makes an announcement over the Floo.

“Yes, ma’am.” Percy stands, straightens his robes, walks around his desk, and offers his hand. It twitches as she reaches for it, and Percy grimaces. “My apologies. I’ve got a bit of a tic.”

“My name is Charlotte Smythe.” She shakes his hand gingerly, as if weighing his fingers for purchase. “My daughter got a letter,” she holds it up, and Percy can see the wrinkles in the envelope from Ms. Smythe’s grip. “It says she gets to go to that wizard school, but she’s not a wizard.”

“Please, sit down, Ms. Smythe,” Percy gestures to a chair and makes sure she’s comfortable before he takes his own chair. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

“That would be lovely,” Ms. Smythe says. Her eyes widen when Percy points his wand at the tea cart and makes it roll across the floor. “Is that what she’ll learn there?”

“Amongst other things,” Percy says. He presses his wand to the teapot and smiles at her. “What would you like?”

“Lady Grey, if you have it.”

Percy taps the teapot once and pours, the fruity smell of Lady Grey tea fills the office. “Sugar? Milk? Honey?”

“Sugar, please.”

Percy places the sugar on the edge of his desk and hands Ms. Smythe a tea cup, saucer, and spoon. “Please, help yourself.” He makes his own cup of tea and sits down again, waiting until Ms. Smythe takes her first sip before speaking. “I’m a wizard-born,” he tells her. “So I always expected to go to Hogwarts. I can’t imagine what a shock it must be to have no idea of Hogwarts, and then to find out there are wizards and witches, and then to find out that your daughter…”

“Amelia,” Ms. Smythe supplies.

“Amelia is one of them.”

“One of our neighbors saw the owl land on our window, and we had to call the police to calm him down,” Ms. Smythe says. “Amelia was terrified. She didn’t understand why he was yelling, you see. She’s always had a very active imagination, and she loves fantasy stories, so she thought it was wonderful news.”

“And it can be,” Percy says soothingly. “You just have to work through the surprise, I think.” He picks up one of the pictures on his desk and hands it to Ms. Smythe. He watches the shock on her face as she realizes the picture is moving. “The woman in the second row, with the brown hair, do you see her?”

“Yes.” Ms. Smythe pokes at the picture.

“Her name is Hermione Granger. She comes from a non-magical family, and she’s an absolutely brilliant person. Not just magically, but academically and otherwise. She’ll be teaching at Hogwarts this fall.” Percy watches Ms. Smythe stare at the picture. “There are a great many good witches and wizards out there. Voldemort and his followers did terrible things, but he does not represent all of us.”

“What happens if she doesn’t go?” Ms. Smythe asks softly.

“Untrained magic has two alternatives. Sometimes the person’s magic simply stays dormant. Other times, the person’s magic will flare without the person even realizing what he or she is doing. I know a man who accidentally made the glass enclosure of a very large snake disappear because he wasn’t aware he was magical. And there are people who chose not to go to Hogwarts or another of the schools, and they had similar issues.”

Ms. Smythe carefully puts the picture back on Percy’s desk. She picks up her tea and sips it again. “We can say no, can’t we?”

“Of course,” Percy says evenly. “The Hogwarts letter is always an invitation, never an ultimatum.”

“I see.” Ms. Smythe looks around the office and watches as two memos zoom in the door and float above Percy’s desk. “We have friends who lost an aunt in your war,” she says after a moment. “They watched her get tortured to death.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Percy replies. He sets down his tea cup and watches Ms. Smythe as she takes a deep breath.

“Are there private tutors?”

“I have a short list available,” Percy says, and reaches into his desk. “All persons wanting to teach magic in a private setting must be certified with the Ministry, and you can always contact us to double-check someone’s standing.” He hands her a sheet of paper with a list of name and addresses. “Private tutoring is a very good option if you’re nervous about Amelia being away from home.”

“What about later on, if she wants to go to the school?”

“One of the professors at Hogwarts will put her through a series of short tests to see how far her skills have progressed and place her with students of her level.”

“I see.”

Percy breathes in slowly and watches the indecision slide across Ms. Smythe’s face. “Ms. Smythe,” he says to get her to look at him, “when the Ministry was first founded, magical people were in hiding. We were being burned or drowned or pushed off cliffs. Magical wars were fought amongst magical people, and the Ministry assumed it would always be that way. Had the Ministry known Voldemort and his followers were going to so blatantly disregard the lives of non-magical people, I like to believe that someone here would have told the general public. But I doubt it would have happened that way.”

Ms. Smythe blinks at Percy. “I don’t understand.”

“One of the reasons the last war came to be was because foolish people chose to ignore it. There were obvious signs that a war was approaching, and they were routinely and purposefully hidden and mocked. Minister Shacklebolt chose to make our presence known because it is the only way we have to apologize for what our war did to all the non-magical people of Britian. It’s not fair that your friends lost their aunt. It’s not right that your neighbor was so angry, and that’s at the feet of the Ministry.”

Percy takes a deep breath. “We’re sorry, Ms. Smythe, everyone of us here, and many, many more who are not in this building. You shouldn’t be here to speak to me about being fearful for Amelia’s safety, but you are, and part of that blame is my own.”

Ms. Smythe doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She finally stands, places her tea cup on the edge of Percy’s desk, and gives him a sharp nod. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Weasley.”

“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Smythe.” Percy stands up and sees her to the door.

*

“You should have Flooed me,” Seamus tells him later. “Or called; I was only down in Records. I could have helped you talk to her.”

“I don’t think her response would have been any different,” Percy replies. “I think she just wanted to see what we look like.”

Seamus wrinkles his nose. “Think she expected a third eye?” He sneezes loudly as he tries to brush the dust from his robes.

“Maybe,” Percy says. “Or she was wondering if we’d do something strange to her.” Jill walks into the office, and Percy looks at her. “Yes?”

“Oliver Wood to see you,” she says.

“Oliver,” Percy calls loud enough to get Oliver to walk into the room, “what has you over here today?”

“This and that,” Oliver answers. “I just finished a report to some people, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to go to the cinema tonight.”

Percy glances at the clock. “I’ve another hour here, but I’m free after that. I can Floo Dad, and he can tell Mum that I won’t be home for dinner.”

“Mind if I just hang around here?” Oliver asks.

Percy looks over at Seamus, and Seamus gives him a distracted nod. “Sit down, please.” Oliver’s arm brushes his as he walks to a chair, and Percy presses down a smile. “Tea?”

Oliver is grinning at Seamus’s ongoing battle with the dust on his robes. “No, thanks.” He sits in the chair across from Percy’s desk and chats with Seamus while Percy floos his father and replies to his correspondence. He occasionally joins the conversation when Oliver says something particularly ridiculous. When they leave at five o’clock, Oliver presses his hand to the small of Percy’s back. This time Percy lets himself smile.

*

Shacklebolt catches him as he’s on his way to lunch the three days later. “I need to speak with you. I’d be happy to buy your lunch so that I don’t interrupt any further than necessary.”

It takes Percy a moment to get over the shock of the offer. His previous bosses had never been so considerate. “I was just headed to the cafe down the street.”

“I know it,” Shacklebolt says with a smile. “They have excellent sandwiches.”

They walk in silence, and Percy is surprised to find it comfortable. He lets Shacklebolt precede him into the cafe and nods to agree to a table in the back corner.

“I hope we don’t have a repeat of our last lunch,” Shacklebolt says with a small, wry smile.

“The war’s over, so probably not,” Percy replies with a wry smile of his own.

They order tea, sandwiches, and a heaping bowl of chips. Percy takes three bites of his sandwich before Shacklebolt speaks. “I want to make you an official spokesperson for Magical/Non-Magical relations.”

Percy nearly chokes. “Pardon?” he wheezes out as he takes a large drink of tea.

“I received an e-mail from a Ms. Smythe today. She had incredibly glowing words for you and informed me she and her husband have decided that their daughter will go to Hogwarts. She spoke very highly of your kindness and tact.”

“She did?”

Shacklebolt chuckles. “You can’t honestly be so shocked at the news.”

“I was certain she’d hole the girl away for the rest of her life,” Percy admits. “I really am surprised at the news.”

“And the offer?”

“That as well.” Percy chews on a chip and watches Shackelbolt wait for an explanation. “There are members of my family who are particularly gifted at talking,” he says, and pauses when Shacklebolt outright laughs. “I’ve never had the gift.”

“There’s talking and there’s tact,” Shacklebolt says flatly, but the smile stays in his eyes. “I need the second.”

“What about Seamus?”

“Seamus’s last interview ended with him informing some reporter that said reporter was a twat. Seamus is no longer allowed to talk to reporters.”

“I suppose they don’t care for such language on their telly stations.”

“I suppose not.” Shacklebolt leans on the table, hands folded around the edges of his sandwich plate. “Minerva is staggering the letters from Hogwarts to give us time to find our feet in explaining the honest lack of danger to the students from non-magical families. I need you to treat everyone like Ms. Smythe. Be tactful but honest. Will you take the job?”

Percy considers it for a few minutes. Across the table, Shacklebolt looks relaxed enough to wait him out the entire afternoon if he must. “I accept,” he says finally. “And I would like to apologize in advance if I jam my foot in my mouth.”

“Duly noted,” Shacklebolt replies. He holds out his hand. “Thank you.”

Percy shakes his hand. “It’s my pleasure, sir.”

*

“A promotion!” Oliver says as he and Percy sit down at the pub for drinks. “Bet your mum was pleased.”

“Dad as well,” Percy confirms. “The twins sent a nameplate that flashes between my name and calling me a wanker.”

Oliver laughs. “How about the rest?”

“Ginny stopped by to say congratulations, and the rest don’t know just yet. Although I’m certain Mum’s started getting out the word.”

“I thought Ron was working from the Ministry right now.”

“He’s elsewhere currently,” Percy tells him, noticing when Oliver shifts. “But I think you know that.”

“I might have seen him around,” Oliver says casually.

“I think—” Percy cuts off as the waitress drops off their drinks. “Thank you,” he tells her.

“You’re welcome. Anything else for you?”

“Not at the moment,” Percy tells her. He watches Oliver take a sip of his drink. “I think,” Percy picks up the conversation, “that I can probably guess what you’ve been doing.”

“Oh?” Oliver asks. “Because I’m not doing anything.” His poker face is convincing, as is the loose way he holds his shoulders.

“I’m fairly certain that you’re helping round up the last of the Death Eaters,” Percy says evenly. “Not that you can say anything about it.”

“I would if I could,” Oliver admits quietly. “But if I tell you nothing—”

“Then nothing will happen to me,” Percy finishes. He sips his drink. “How much longer?”

“I’m not sure. I’m travelling less.”

“So’s Ron,” Percy tells him.

“Keep up with Ron,” Oliver suggests. “He’s a fairly accurate measurement on certain matters.”

“I am aware that telling you to be careful is somewhat hopeless, but be careful anyway, all right?” Percy says after a moment.

“I’ll try,” Oliver says so solemnly that Percy feels like he’s been given a promise.

*

Shacklebolt holds a meeting every Thursday with his various cabinet members. Percy’s habit is to pay attention to anything related to Wizard/Non-Magical relations and spend the rest of the time nodding politely. He listens closely when Tonks gives the Auror report and realizes that half of what she says is nothing at all. She has plenty of names and locations for everything to sound good, but when Percy reads over the minutes later in the afternoon, he sees minor discrepancies. And he sees that Shacklebolt has allowed them.

“Back in a minute,” Percy says to Seamus, who is currently on the telephone. Seamus waves him away, and Percy tells Jill to take messages until he returns. He rides the elevator to the fifth floor and walks down to the Auror office. There is no one in the waiting area, and the black-haired man at the desk waves Percy through after buzzing Tonks’s office.

“Percy,” Tonks greets and stands up. She immediately hits her waste bin with her foot. “What brings you all the way up here?”

He wonders where to start. A flat accusation of lying will probably get him thrown out without a second thought. “I have some questions about your department,” he says, hoping it’s neutral enough to work.

“Which part?” Tonks asks as she sits. She leans back in her chair and looks completely relaxed.

“I was reviewing the minutes from today’s meeting,” Percy starts and watches her. “There were some discrepancies in your report, and Minister Shacklebolt seemed to miss them. Either because he missed them, or because he expected them to be there.”

Tonks gives Percy a long, measured look. “Not your business,” she says flatly.

“I have two siblings who answer to you. And I have—”

“I don’t care,” Tonks says deliberately. “It’s not your business.” The way she sits up straighter and adjusts her shoulders reminds Percy that she’s been trained by Moody.

“Tell me how bad it is,” Percy requests. “Please,” he adds when the color rises in Tonks’s cheeks.

“Why?” she challenges. “There’s no professional reason to keep you in the loop.”

Percy thinks about it for a moment. “Because I know just enough to be scared,” he admits. “And because I know more than enough what will happen if anyone is caught.”

Tonks squints at him. She leans back an inch. “Not as bad as you’re thinking, worse than what the reporters know.”

“They don’t know you’re out hunting,” Percy says.

“We’re finishing business,” Tonks corrects. She stands up. “I have a meeting.”

Percy thinks about the woman who sat on his couch in the safehouse and massaged the ache out of his arm. “Thank you,” he says as he exits.


	2. Chapter 2

*

He needs to talk to someone, Percy thinks. He needs to get a second opinion. He goes home that night, sits in the kitchen, and watches his mother cook. “They’re rounding up Death Eaters,” he says as she checks something in the oven.

“Of course they are,” Molly replies.

Percy blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that. “You sound like you know something,” he tells her after a moment.

Molly wipes her hands on her apron, brushes a lock of hair from her face, and gives Percy a considering look. She walks across the kitchen and sits down, reaching out to cover Percy’s hands with her own. “Do you remember the first war?” she asks.

Percy thinks about it for a moment, and he sees bits and pieces of memory. “You used to come in my room with the twins and make us sit and be very quiet. You said we couldn’t use magic.”

“I did,” Molly agrees. “We were in a safehouse, the four of us. Bill and Charlie were at school, and your father was working with the Order. We couldn’t use magic because we were afraid of being tracked.”

“You worked with the Order some,” Percy says. He remembers a series of meetings around a large, square table. “I sat under the table and made cat’s cradles.”

“And read,” Molly tells him. “And your father was in the field most of the time.”

Percy thinks about that and realizes, suddenly, that he only remembers his father in late-night hugs. “Dad hunted Death Eaters?” he asks.

“Captured,” Molly corrects. “It’s part of the aftermath, dear.” Something on the stove top sizzles, and Molly stands up to stir a pot. “It has to be done,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “Wars don’t end at the last public battle, Percy.”

The way she says it, quiet and determined, makes it stick in Percy’s head all through dinner.

*

A week later, Percy is drafting a press release about the most recent updates to the Ministry’s communication system. He’s double-checking the newest phone numbers against the master list when he hears the Floo in the outer office whoosh to life.

“Percy,” Jill says as she steps into the office, “it’s your mother.”

Percy looks up, head still filled with numbers, and is abruptly brought fully into the moment at the way Jill is clutching her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t quite understand her. It’s something about Draco Malfoy.”

Percy stands and hurries into the front office. His mother’s face, even with the distortion of the flames, looks washed out and worried. “Mum, what’s going on?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even.

“Draco…they showed up at St. Mungo’s…they—”

“Mum.” Percy interrupts. “Calm.”

She takes a deep breath, and she’s calm. “Wizengamot members showed up at St. Mungo’s and took Draco away. He’s being accused—”

“Is he here?” Percy interrupts again.

“I don’t know. But they took him, Percy,” Molly says. “They dragged him away from his patients. I’ve Flooed Charlie, but he can’t make it from Romania—”

“Hold on, Mum.” Percy turns to Jill. “Call down to the…” he trails off when she holds up a finger. She’s already on the phone.

“Is the Wizengamot in session?” she asks into the receiver. Her lips thin, and Percy feels his stomach drop.

“I’ll Floo you back, Mum.” Percy turns on his heel and runs out the door. He pushes his way onto a waiting elevator and snaps at the attendant to take him immediately to the Wizengamot.

“You’ll have to wait—”

“Now.” Percy doesn’t know if it’s his tone or his glare, but the attendant closes the gate and sets the elevator on express. Percy tries to keep himself still, but his right arm twitches anyway, and Percy flexes his hand slowly, the way Draco taught him during the war.

The elevator squeals to a halt, and Percy slides around the half-open gate to rush down the hall. He nearly trips over his own feet at the sight of Tonks—hair short, spiked, and striped orange and red—arguing fiercely with the guard at the door.

“I don’t give a sweet fuck-all how high you rank,” Tonks is hissing as Percy comes into hearing range. “Wizengamot members are not allowed to drag wizards off the street with no evidence. Aurors—”

“The Wizengamot is already in session,” the guard responds coolly. He gives Percy a passing glance. “Sir—”

Percy body binds him, levitates him out of the way, and yanks on the door. It doesn’t budge. “_Alohomora_!” He yells, but the lock doesn’t turn.

“Tried that before I argued with him,” Tonks says from behind him. She pulls out her own wand. “Let’s try it together.” The lock doesn’t turn, but it melts, and Tonks throws open the door viciously, Percy right on her heels.

The members of the Wizengamot all look at Percy and Tonks in shock. Tonks starts yelling; Percy zeroes in on Draco and cuts across the floor. “Are you all right?” he asks when he reaches Draco’s side.

“They grabbed me,” Draco hisses between his teeth. He grimaces. “The chair is—” He bites his lip, and his nostrils flare. “Hurts,” he says so quietly Percy almost doesn’t hear him over Tonks’s continued diatribe.

“I do not believe you understand the role of the Wizengamot,” one of the witches is saying to Tonks.

“I don’t believe you can’t figure out how quickly I’m going to hex you,” Tonks replies.

“Tonks,” Percy cuts in, his voice low, but his anger carries. “They’ve done something to the chair.”

Tonks whirls around, the bridge of her nose sharpening as her hair flashes black. “What about the chair?”

“It’s causing him pain.” Percy presses his wand to the chair and immediately pulls away when Draco gasps loudly. “And it’s set up—”

“As a torture device,” Tonks finishes. She very carefully puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “We’ll—” She starts to say, but the doors to the chamber are thrown open again.

It’s Ginny and Ron, wands out, Shacklebolt at their backs. “Stand down, or I will force you down,” he bellows as Ginny and Ron fan out. Tonks steps forward to cover the middle section as Shacklebolt steps up to the chair and holds his hands an inch from the back of Draco’s head. “End it,” he orders.

“Minister Shacklebolt, I think—” one of the wizards starts.

“You do not,” Shacklebolt interrupts,” or you wouldn’t dare try to make this sound acceptable. End it.”

Draco slumps a moment later, Percy catching him before he hits the floor. “Charlie,” he mutters into Percy’s shoulder.

“He’s on his way,” Percy murmurs. “He’s getting here as fast as he can.”

“Okay,” Draco says, but his eyes say thank you.

*

Shacklebolt calls down all in-house Aurors to help him keep the Wizengamot members in place while he starts questioning. Percy gets Draco to his office and waves off Seamus before he can ask any questions. “I need a couch,” he says.

Seamus immediately transfigures his desk and watches as Percy gets Draco settled. He looks like he wants to ask a hundred questions. “Whiskey?” he offers.

“Three fingers,” Draco says as he presses his palms against his eyes. “The pittance that was once my father’s fortune for the chance to put those bastards into that chair.”

“Chair?” Seamus asks Percy.

“The Wizengamot appears to have forgotten that this isn’t Fudge’s ministry,” Percy says and feels his stomach roll.

“Shacklebolt seemed very willing to remind them they’re power hungry idiots,” Draco mutters. “That’s something.” He nods when Seamus hands him his whiskey.

Seamus passes a second glass to Percy. “Don’t,” he says before Percy can argue. “You were here during Fudge.”

Percy feels himself smiling and takes a sip. “Thank you, Seamus.”

Seamus shrugs. “Hell, all I had to do was pour whiskey.”

“It’s appreciated,” Percy tells him.

“Just answer the couch if it rings,” Seamus replies.

*

Charlie makes it to the Ministry at half-five. Percy is in the outer office comparing to-do lists with Jill when he storms in, hair wild from a broom ride Percy doesn’t want to imagine. “In there,” Percy says with a jerk of his thumb. “He’s sleeping.”

“Is he—” Charlie looks from Percy to the inner office.

“I had Madame Pomfrey check him personally. He’ll be fine once he’s had some rest.”

“And Shacklebolt—”

“Still with the Wizengamot. I haven’t tried to interrupt.” Percy puts a hand on Charlie’s back and gives him a small shove. “He’s in there,” he repeats quietly. “He’s been asking for you.” Percy watches Charlie walk into his office and crouch in front of Draco’s sleeping form. “Make sure they’re not interrupted,” he tells Jill. “I have to go check on someone.”

*

Percy apparates to an alley a block from Oliver’s apartment and makes short work of the walk. Oliver answers the door with an ice pack on the left side of his face. “Hex,” he says before Percy can ask. “The medi-witch was worried about crossing spells.”

Percy moves the ice pack to get a look at the mark on Oliver’s face. The medi-witch had healed the cut, but the bruise is still dark purple. Percy puts the ice pack back in place. “How much longer are you going to do this?” Percy asks.

Oliver shrugs and grimaces. He rolls his left shoulder. “Until it’s finished.”

Percy presses his lips together and follows Oliver into the sitting room. He shakes his head when Oliver offers tea and watches the careful way Oliver sits. “The Wizengamot tried to hold a private torture hearing for Draco,” he says. “Mum managed to Floo me before it got very bad, but…” Percy shakes his head and puts his head in his hands. “It’s supposed to be different now. There aren’t supposed to be secret tribunals. You’re not supposed to be chasing Death Eaters. I shouldn’t be talking down terrified mothers with angry neighbors. It’s…nothing’s really changed, has it?”

Oliver doesn’t say anything for a moment. He adjusts his grip on the ice pack and leans farther into the couch. “Things go wrong sometimes, Percy. That’s part of everything.”

“Maybe I should quit.”

“Because losing someone with a sense of right and wrong is exactly what we need right now,” Oliver deadpans.

Percy tries to glare at Oliver, but he can’t find the energy. “I tried to get Tonks to tell me what you’re doing,” he says after a pause.

“I bet that went well.” Oliver grins. “Or she bounced you.”

“Not quite,” Percy replies. “She didn’t tell me anything, but she allowed me to leave with my dignity. And then she helped me melt the lock on the Wizengamot chamber.”

“I know you don’t like what I’m doing,” Oliver says, “especially after having to save Draco like that, but we’re trying our best not to be suspect. It’s just…” Oliver shrugs and winces again. “There are only so many ways to deal with evil people.”

Percy watches Oliver for a moment, checks him for scars he hasn’t seen before. “I’m not here to stop you. I’m not here to blame you. I just want…please don’t be stupid about this,” he says quietly. “I don’t want—”

“Come here,” Oliver says and pulls Percy towards him with the hand not holding the ice pack. He reclines back on the couch, taking Percy down with him. “What they did is inexcusable. I’m working very hard to be the opposite of that.”

“I know,” Percy tells him. “I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Oliver says quietly. He presses a kiss to the top of Percy’s head. “I promise to quit chasing them as soon as I can.”

“The Ministry has Aurors, you know.” It sounds petulant once he says it, but Percy doesn’t want to take it back.

“Not enough,” Oliver says. “Not for the amount of work that has to be done.”

Percy leans against Oliver’s shoulder and listens to him breathe. “Do it carefully,” he nearly whispers. “Do it honestly.”

“I’ll try,” Oliver says quietly. “It’s the best I can do.”

*

“Minister Shacklebolt said to send you upstairs as soon as I saw you,” Jill greets Percy when he walks in the next morning.

“Hmm.” Percy hangs up his travelling cloak and shifts his satchel to his right hand. “Anything else?”

“The Minister says everything else is on hold.”

“Wonderful,” Percy mutters. “Has Seamus’s desk turned back into his desk?”

“Yes,” Jill says.

“Well, there’s that at least.” He smoothes a hand over his hair and gives her a nod. “I’ll ring down if I need you to reschedule anything.” He turns on his heel and walks down the hall to the elevator. The attendant looks slightly scared when Percy boards, and Percy makes sure to keep his voice perfectly neutral when he requests Shacklebolt’s office.

“Express, sir?” the attendant asks.

“That won’t be necessary.” Percy watches the numbers over the door flash on and off as he waits for his stop. He wonders what Shacklebolt will say and gets a sudden dash of freezing cold fear in his stomach. He didn’t Floo Shacklebolt when he ran to the Wizengamot chamber. He barged down there on his own and initiated a confrontation without approval. It wasn’t his place to—

“Minister Shacklebolt’s office, Sir,” the attendant says.

“Thank you,” Percy replies. He’s surprised to find his legs steady when he steps off the lift. Shacklebolt’s assistant smiles at him.

“Mr. Weasley, Minister Shacklebolt told me to send you straight in.” Her smile seems genuine and comfortable, but Percy’s seen the same smile on Jill’s face when she’s greeted people Percy gives bad news. Another cold dash of fear makes Percy's right arm shake, and he makes himself breathe deep.

“Percy,” Shacklebolt greets when Percy opens his office door, “can I get you a tea?”

“Whatever you’re having, Sir,” Percy says. He sits down on a dark green couch perpendicular to the door and wonders if he should sit across from the desk instead.

“Here you go.” Shacklebolt holds out a cup and saucer. He sits on the other end of the couch and sips his own tea. “Thank you for coming in straight away; I know you hate to have your routine rearranged.”

“It’s—” Percy stops and clears his throat. “It’s no trouble, Sir.”

“I’ll keep it brief so it stays that way.” Shacklebolt sets down his cup and saucer and leans back into the couch. “I dismissed the entirety of the Wizengamot after I finished interrogations yesterday, and I want to apologize to you for having to be involved in any way.”

Percy blinks. He sips his tea. He blinks again. He waits another ten seconds for Shacklebolt to start admonishing him. “I don’t understand,” he finally admits. “I thought—” He pauses, not wanting to admit to anything, but Shacklebolt looks completely confused. “I thought I was being fired,” Percy says in a rush.

Shacklebolt blinks. “Where would you get an idea like that?”

“Previous ministers…” Percy trails off and looks into his tea cup. “And now that I start to say it aloud, it seems very ridiculous.” He looks up again, and Shacklebolt is smiling slightly.

“Given yesterday’s problem, I’m very happy to hear it sounds ridiculous.” Shacklebolt smoothes the front of his robes and looks away from Percy for a moment. “Do you recall Harry speaking in front of the Wizengamot?”

Percy manages not to cringe, but it’s an effort. “Yes.”

“Some of the members of that Wizengamot fought with me during the war, and I thought they could be trusted afterwards. I thought they understood what I expected in their behavior, but I overestimated.”

“Not all of them could have—”

“They went along with it,” Shacklebolt interrupts. “It does not matter how much they may have protested at any point; they were quiet when the ringleaders dragged Draco Malfoy into that chair. I want a Wizengamot that actually pays attention to the rules of order that are in our laws, not the rules they’ve created for themselves.”

Percy breathes deep, the last of his tension fading away. “I’m very glad to hear that,” he says firmly.

“I’m glad you still believe me when I say it,” Shacklebolt replies. He picks up his tea and takes a sip. “I want your help creating a new Wizengamot,” he says after he swallows. “I want you to make me a list of people you think could do the job well; who will pay attention to the law and not just assume certain people are responsible for certain acts.”

“Are you asking other people to do this as well?” Percy asks.

“Yes. I am having the heads of all the departments assemble lists.”

“I have Seamus in my department,” Percy says, “and Jill, I suppose.”

“The list does not need to be strictly ministerial,” Shacklebolt clarifies. “You know many people in and out of the Ministry, and you have a moral compass that agrees to abide by set rules. I want you to use it to help me create a Wizengamot that has a moral compass as well.”

Percy blinks, uncertain how to respond to the praise. “I’ll do my very best, Sir.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Shacklebolt replies with a nod.

*

“The Wizengamot thing is all over the Mug—non-magical news,” Oliver tells Percy when they meet for lunch at a sandwich cart. The man running the cart gives them a suspicious look.

“We’ve had the telly on in the office all morning,” Percy says with a grimace. “Seamus has been threatening to start taking a drink for every half-truth.”

“I’m off today; I could join that game.”

“Please don’t,” Percy says with a smile as he pays the cart man. The cart man eyes the money for a moment before pocketing it. Percy manages not to roll his eyes. “If you showed up, I think Seamus would actually do it.”

Oliver smiles and leads Percy to a bench to eat. “You could play sick for the rest of the day,” he suggests. “We could go to my flat and play…checkers.”

Percy raises his eyebrows. “Checkers?”

“Or something,” Oliver says innocently, but there’s a look in his eyes.

Percy looks at Oliver for a moment. Oliver’s leaning back on the bench, drink balanced on his knee with one hand, sandwich in the other. He’s in denims and a button-down red shirt. Percy can see the curve of his collarbone at the open collar of his shirt, and he wants to reach out and touch. “If I could,” he says, and makes sure there’s weight on his words.

Oliver’s smile drops to a smirk. “The fact that I can tempt you is pretty good,” he says. “I can work up from there.”

Percy takes a bite of his sandwich. He chews slowly and watches Oliver watch him. “Stop it,” he mumbles as he take a sip of his drink.

Oliver laughs. “I’ll be good,” he promises. He brushes sandwich crumbs off his hands and drops a hand to Percy’s leg. “Mostly.”

“You are impossible,” Percy says, but he doesn’t make Oliver move his hand.

*

As the Hogwarts letters increase, more and more people show up in front of the Ministry to protest. They want to keep their children “normal”, they yell, and they think the Hogwarts staff are going to turn their children over to the Wizengamot for torture. Shacklebolt holds two press conferences to try and explain. Percy and Seamus draft half a dozen press releases to clear up confusion. No one is listening, it seems, and the crowd grows regularly.

One day they start throwing rocks. Percy gets hit in the head and reels back a few paces. He’d been deep in conversation with some reporter, explaining for the ninth or tenth time that the Hogwarts letter wasn’t an order that would lead to torture but an invitation for children to be properly trained in magic. The reporter looks mildly shocked when Percy touches his forehead and stares at the blood on his fingertips.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Percy says evenly, and the reporter waves him away hurriedly.

Jill’s face drops from a professional smile into wide, scared eyes at the sight of Percy’s bloody forehead. “What do I need to do?” she asks, her voice surprisingly even against the sudden loss of color on her face.

Percy pulls a tissue from the box on her desk and presses it against the cut. “Floo St. Mungo’s. Tell them we’ll probably need a Medi-wizard for the day, and get me someone in the Health and Safety office so we can log the injury. Please.”

“Yes, sir,” Jill says, and reaches for the Floo powder.

Percy nods at her, wincing when it makes his head throb. He walks into the office and holds up his hand before Seamus can ask. “Rock,” he says.

“Have you called Security?”

Percy blinks. “I didn’t even think about it.”

“I’ll do it,” Seamus offers. “You just sit there and try not to bleed on your desk.”

“Thank you.” Percy transfigures a blank sheet of parchment into a cold compress and presses it to his forehead. “I wonder—” he starts as the phone rings. “Yes?” he says when he picks up.

“Health and Safety, sir,” Jill says, “and the doctor should be here shortly.”

“Thank you. Please put the call through.”

Percy spends fifteen agonizing minutes explaining to the witch in Health and Safety that, no, no Ministry employee threw the rock at him and, yes, he was sure it was a rock, and, yes, he was also certain he’d been hit in the head. He’s interrupted on his third run-through of his story when Draco walks into the office, hangs up the phone, and tilts back Percy’s head to get a look at his wound.

“Brilliant work, Weasley,” Draco mutters as he presses his wand to Percy’s head. “You’ve a mild concussion.”

“Oh,” Percy replies. “Did you volunteer to check on me?”

Draco snorts. “I’m the newest Medi-wizard on staff and something of a pariah thanks to the cranks you work with. Hold still.” He closes the cut on Percy’s head with a slow slide of his wand. “I can only give you a pain relieving potion for the concussion. A rock doesn’t count as a war-time offense, so the quick-fix potion is unadvisable.”

“The pain reliever will be fine,” Percy says, and drinks down the potion Draco hands him. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be down in Health and Safety filling out the forms if you jump in front of any other rocks,” Draco replies and leaves.

Seamus shakes his head when the door closes. “That is still so weird.”

“Hmmm?” Percy murmurs as he presses his fingers against his head again.

“He’s not a complete twat. He’s still a semi-twat, mind, but not a complete twat.”

Percy chuckles at that. “Did you think he’d stay static?”

Seamus thinks about it for a moment. “I think I tried not to think about it,” he finally says. “It was easier to work with him during the war when I wasn’t trying to expect a certain reaction.”

“I suppose,” Percy replies after a moment.

“It’s kind of nice he’s still a twat,” Seamus adds. “Brings a bit of consistency to the world.”

*

Arthur stops in for a few minutes, looks at Percy’s healed cut, and pats him on the shoulder. “_The London Times_ has you on their front homepage,” he tells him.

“Grand,” Percy mutters and doesn’t bother explaining that the front page is the homepage. “I’m very glad Mum’s disallowed a computer in the house,” he says instead.

“You’re also on the front of the _Prophet_.” Arthur smiles in sympathy when Percy buries his head in his hands.

*

Seamus bursts out laughing when a medium-sized orange-brown owl flies in the window and settles on the perch on Percy’s desk. The owl is wearing a tiny party hat and an equally tiny, silvery cape embroidered with “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes”. The hat blinks between, “Hope you feel better”, and “We let Mum yell at us instead, so you owe us ten quid or new ears”.

“Tell them hullo,” Seamus says as he gathers his papers and leaves for a meeting.

Percy mutters in acknowledgement and eyes the vanishing crème the twins have sent. He tests it on a corner of his desk and isn’t surprised when the corner disappears. The attached card tells him to try it on his head, and Percy wonders exactly how terrified Jill would be if she walked in to find him missing a piece of his face. It makes him smile, and he walks to the outer office to show her how it works.

“I could use that,” Jill says with a grin reminiscent of the twins. “Where do I get some?”

“Consider it a bonus,” Percy tells her and leaves it on the edge of her desk.

*

Oliver storms in during the late afternoon and throws the _Prophet_ onto Percy’s desk. “You could have Flooed,” he snaps in greeting.

Percy reaches for the paper and waves Jill away from the door in the same motion. He watches Picture-Percy wince as he’s hit in the head. “Seems you heard about it,” he replies, slightly confused at Oliver’s tone.

“Yes, I heard about it, but usually when one’s boyfriend is injured, he Floos you before the afternoon edition prints.”

Percy blinks. “Boyfriend?”

Oliver looks completely lost for a moment. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Why do you sound—” He presses his lips together, but the tail end of a laugh gets loose anyway.

“What?” Percy asks, feeling more confused by the second. “First you’re angry, and now you’re laughing—”

“Perce,” Oliver interrupts, “you know we’ve been dating, right?”

“Of course!” Percy says hurriedly, feeling a sudden rush up his spine. “I just hadn’t…” he pulls at the neck of his robes while Oliver laughs. “I don’t have a sense of when things change from dating to…serious dating,” he tells Oliver, feeling less embarrassed than he thinks he should. Oliver’s laughter should bother him, but there’s such warmth on his face as he smiles at Percy that it makes Percy relax. “I’ll Floo next time.”

“Thank you,” Oliver says. He leans over and kisses Percy quickly. “Still on for dinner at my place tonight?”

“Yes,” Percy agrees. “I have to stop by the Burrow to change, but I should be there by seven.”

“Seven,” Oliver repeats, and gives Percy a quick smile before he leaves.

*

Molly declares that the last Saturday of August will be a family day. It will start with everyone coming to stay at the Burrow Friday night. “Make sure Oliver gets here in time for dinner,” she says to Percy so casually that he agrees automatically. It’s only when he tells Oliver about the invitation as they wait in line for a film that he realizes the implication.

“Mum apparently thinks we’re very serious,” Percy tells Oliver, feeling a flush warm the tips of his ears.

Oliver smiles. “Good; then we won’t need to have that discussion.”

“I suppose not,” Percy smiles in return.

*

“Seamus?” Shacklebolt asks Percy. “He’s a bit quick-tempered.”

“And likes to call people out when they’re wrong and trying to pretend otherwise,” Percy says. “He also has an excellent memory and enjoys a good debate.”

Shacklebolt nods slowly. “He could do well on the Wizengamot.” He skims the rest of Percy’s list. “No nepotism?” he asks with a smile.

Percy thinks about Ron’s short fuse, Ginny’s easy annoyance, Bill’s trouble sitting still, Charlie’s need to be near death constantly, and the twins’s…everything. “How could I choose?” he asks drily.

Shacklebolt laughs. “However indeed?”

*

Percy presses Oliver against the door of his flat and brushes his hand against the side of Oliver’s head. He gives a grunt of frustration when he can’t tangle his fingers in Oliver’s hair. “You weren’t required to cut it,” he grumbles against Oliver’s mouth as Oliver tugs him towards the bedroom.

“I always cut my hair before the first practice,” Oliver tells him. “It brings good luck.”

“Superstition,” Percy replies, then yelps as Oliver bodily lifts him and carries him into the bedroom. “Cheating!” he insists laughingly as Oliver throws him onto the bed.

Oliver crawls onto the bed after him, straddling Percy’s hips and undoing the buttons on his shirt. He kisses Percy’s neck, then his collarbone, and he presses his palm to Percy’s right shoulder when it starts to shake. “All right?”

“It’s the endorphins,” Percy reminds him. “No pain at all.” He arches when Oliver grazes his teeth against his ear.

“Good,” Oliver whispers into Percy’s ear. He finishes unbuttoning Percy’s shirt and pulls Percy up to get it off of him. He falls over inelegantly when Percy suddenly shifts his weight and sends him toppling onto his back. “Well!”

Percy pulls at Oliver’s T-shirt and scratches his nails along Oliver’s abdomen experimentally. Oliver groans, and Percy does it again before pulling off Oliver’s shirt. He presses his fingers to the scar on Oliver’s collarbone. “What happened?” he asks.

“Puddlemere’s last game before the war went off officially; I got a Bludger straight in the chest and crashed on the stairs in the stands. Landed just right to break my collar bone and get a pretty nasty gash.”

Percy smiles to himself and licks the scar. “I assumed it was from the war.”

“Everybody does,” Oliver says. He presses his face against Percy’s hand when Percy traces the line of dark hair on the side of his head. “No one asks on that one, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Percy agrees and kisses Oliver slowly, tongue licking the edge of Oliver’s mouth.

*

Afterwards, Oliver presses in tight against Percy and presses his fingers to a scatter of small, round scars on the inside of Percy’s left elbow. “What are those?”

“Fred and George rigged a game of Exploding Snap,” Percy says, inspecting the scars. “They felt the explosions weren’t interesting enough.”

Oliver shows him a slight indention in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. “The third time I apparated I splinched myself. Mum and Dad wouldn’t fix it because they thought it would remind me to concentrate.”

Percy finds a nearly forgotten stripe on his elbow. “Fell off my broom when I was nine.”

“Slipped in Hogsmeade,” Oliver says about the small scar over his left eyebrow. He traces Percy’s nose with a fingertip and smiles when Percy presses against his hand. “I have something to tell you,” he murmurs against Percy’s neck.

“Hmm?” Percy hums.

“I’m through with the Ministry. Gave them my notice when I got the owl from the Puddlemere coach. Cleared everything this afternoon.”

Percy looks at Oliver for a long moment. “Really?”

“No more rounding up Death Eaters for me,” Oliver says, smiling as Percy beams at him. “I’m officially retired.”

“Wonderful,” Percy breathes out as Oliver nuzzles his chest. “That’s wonderful.”

*

“Lost a bet,” George says, eyes expectant.

“Lost a lot of bets,” Fred antes.

“No and no,” Oliver replies. “I do actually like him.”

“Oh, come on,” Fred scoffs, “no one likes Percy.”

“Charming,” Percy says from his spot next to Oliver. “It’s a wonder you two remain single.”

“Charlie’s single,” George responds, “and he doesn’t point out your flaws.”

“I am not single, and you well know it,” Charlie hollers from where he’s floating in the pond.

“Draco doesn’t count! He’s weird!” Fred calls in return.

“At least he’s not an incessant juvenile with a silly joke shop!”

Percy flashes Charlie a grateful smile when the twins turn and rush at him. Charlie grins in return as he dunks them both easily. “And to think, I was afraid you wouldn’t have a good time,” he says to Oliver.

“You’re lucky I knew the twins beforehand,” Oliver says. “It’s a wonder any of you have any chance with those two around.” He stretches out on the blanket and tucks his arms behind his head. “You should get your own place,” he says conversationally.

“Oh?” Percy asks, looking around the pond. Charlie’s still fighting off Fred and George. His parents are under a large umbrella a few dozen yards away. Bill and Fleur are on the opposite side of the pond, dangling their feet in the water and sitting very close. Ron, Ginny, and Harry are sitting in a semi-circle farther up the bank, all three of them sketching some sort of ridiculous Quidditch strategy and arguing about the promise of the upcoming season. Hermione and Draco are sitting in rickety lawn chairs, five feet apart, each reading their separate books and occasionally chatting. The thought of moving out of the Burrow again fills him with equal parts interest and concern. “I might.”

“The lease is up on my flat in another few months,” Oliver replies. “I’d like someplace closer to the Puddlemere practice pitch. There are some places about equal distance from the pitch to the Ministry.”

Percy shades his eyes to look at Oliver. Oliver’s smiling at him. “If you’d be interested,” Oliver says. “In a few months.”

“Yes,” Percy says before he can stop himself. “Yes,” he says again just to hear it.

Oliver beams.

*

Shacklebolt walks into Percy and Seamus’s office the day the Hogwarts Express leaves and beams as he places a bottle of champagne on each of their desks. “Congratulations, gentlemen. The Hogwarts Express is full thanks to your hard work.”

“There’s still plenty more to do,” Percy says as Jill walks in with champagne flutes and a small plate of biscuits. “A dozen families chose not to pursue a magical education at all.”

“We can worry about it in five minutes,” Seamus says before Shacklebolt can do more than look amused. He pops the cork on the champagne and pours for everyone.

Shacklebolt hands Percy his flute and holds up his own. “To victory in battle,” he says with a smile. “Whatever the battle may be.”

*

“I can not believe I agreed to this,” Seamus says a few weeks later as he puts on his Wizengamot robes. “If I have to read one more decree this week, I’m going to burn down the chamber and flee to Canada.”

“Canada still recognizes British power,” Percy replies.

“Someplace else, then. Maybe someplace warm, even.” Seamus says as he puts on his hat.

“You could decree that there will be no more decrees,” Percy offers. He ducks when Seamus throws a quill at his head.

*

Two months into the school year, three students leave Hogwarts. One is a pureblood, the other two are non-magical born. Percy doesn’t sleep well for three days.

“You did everything you could,” Oliver tells him, an arm and leg thrown over Percy to keep him in bed. “Hell, you probably did twice as much as was required by your position. You have to lose sometime.”

“I know,” Percy says. “Rationally, I know. But irrationally—”

“You can’t save the whole world, you know.”

“You’re one to talk,” Percy snaps tiredly. “You wouldn’t stop throwing yourself in front of other people’s hexes.”

“Gives me good practice in dealing with you in a mood like this.” Oliver curls in closer to Percy and tucks his nose under Percy’s ear. “Sometimes you lose,” he says quietly. “But look how many children are still there.”

“Waiting to leave, probably,” Percy grouses.

“I’m going to sleep. Wake me when you’ve shaken off the worst of this.” Oliver curls his hand tight around Percy’s side and breathes out warm on Percy’s neck. “Unless you actually want to talk about this.”

“No,” Percy says and wraps his fingers around Oliver’s forearm. “Not like it’ll change anything.”

*

Minerva invites Percy and Seamus to the Holiday Break dinner. Percy asks Oliver to come with him as they skim the classifieds for a suitable flat for rent.

“There’s a team meeting that day,” Oliver tells him, “but I should be able to make it a few minutes before dinner.”

*

The invitation for Christmas is addressed to “Percy and Oliver”, even though Percy is still living at the Burrow. He shows the invitation to Oliver during dinner at Oliver’s flat. Oliver smiles. “Of course I’ll go,” he says.

Percy marks the box next to ‘yes’ and sends it away with Hermes. “You’ll probably get a sweater,” he tells Oliver. “If you have a preferred color, I can tell Mum.”

“My very own Weasley sweater?” Oliver asks. “I want it in gray.”

*

January second is incredibly cold. The heater in their new flat takes time to warm up, and Percy conjures a small blue fire to keep them warm as they unpack. He’s transfiguring the living room walls into bookshelves when Oliver comes up behind him and presses his cold nose into Percy’s neck.

“Just realized something,” Oliver says into Percy’s hair.

“Oh?” Percy asks, reaching up a hand to check the air coming out of the vent. “I think it’s slightly warmer.”

“Mmm,” Oliver replies. “I love you,” he says after a moment.

Percy freezes, hand still suspended in the air. “Was this the something you’ve just realized?” he asks shakily.

“I realized I haven’t said it,” Oliver explains. “And I can’t say I’ll remember to say it very often, so I figured I’d say it now.”

“Oh.” Percy turns and looks Oliver in the eyes. He brushes his thumb against the dark streak in Oliver’s hair. “I love you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Oliver beams. “Oh, good. Hate to think we’d have to break the lease.”

Percy laughs. “Terrible,” he mutters with a shake of his head.

“I’m going to start dinner,” Oliver replies. “If I can find the pans.”

Percy watches him walk into the kitchen and listens as he shifts boxes. He’s home, he thinks, and smiles as he finishes unpacking his books.


End file.
